The Final Mission
by Lucy Hawthorn
Summary: It was a promise made before he could understand it. It was a vow out of his control. It was a destiny chosen at a time when even the idea of such a great feat could have smothered him.
1. Prologue: The Vow

**Prologue: A choice.**

The full moon cast it's silvery glow down upon a tall, hauntingly graceful mansion. A graveled walk led up to a black wooden door with a large bronze knocker, the ruby eyes of the metal sepent twined around the handle glinting malevolently, warding off any late visitors.

A pair of sharp gray eyes peered through one of the windows, down into the garden. Lucious Malfoy had only just paused in his pacing long enough to check that the sky was still clear enough for flying. "Narcissa, it is nearly midnight. I must be going. He's waiting, and if I'm late again..." He turned to face the thin, pale women in the rocker by the fire, his bright blonde hair glinting crimson as it swayed. She stared up at him with piercing cornflower blue eyes, her own fair hair shining orange. In her arms lay a small, equally blonde baby, sound asleep and cooing softly. Her face was pinched into a studied look of indifference, her pale lips twisted into a gruesome smile. "Of course, Lu-cious." Her voice cracked, and tears spilled angrily down her cheeks, splashing onto the collar of her snow-white robe. "Cissa..." He whispered, crossing the room lightly to meet his wife's side. He kissed her taut cheek and gazed down at the tiny baby, clutching her her thin hand. The man looked up at her with distraught eyes. "I can't leave now, he'll kill me, he'll kill _you_, and Draco. And after I-I couldn't kill that Auror, he's furious with me! I have to go with him, I have to, you know-" He was too miserable to continue. She caressed his face, smiling slightly.

"Promise me something," Narcissa Malfoy murmured, looking deep into his eyes, "Promise me Draco gets a choice. Whatever he wants, he gets to be happy. No matter what. Even if we have to flee the country for him, even if he refuses to follow the Dark Lord, we make him happy." Her voice was so soft it was a whisper of warmth in the cold air of the dark mansion. "Yes-yes, of course." He said softly. The giant grandfather clock in the corner of the long sitting room rang loudly, announcing midnight. He sighed heavily, closing his eyes and straightening. "Goodbye." He said curtly, marching purposefully out of the room, his silhouette disappearing into the icy shadow of night. She heard his shoes clattering on the steps that lead down to the walk, and the slightest crunch of gravel as he headed out to the broomshed. She knew the only reason he didn't Disapparate was because he didn't want to arrive.

She tucked her now chilly legs under herself and looked down into the innocent face of her son. A wispy lock of his hair had slid down over one of his closed eyelids. She brushed it away as gently as possible, smiling widely. Her perfect little baby. A sudden rustle in the kitchen and she glanced up, alarmed, staring into the darkness and hugged Draco tighter. "_So,_" A voice hissed, a pair of dark eyes gleaming. "My little nephew has been born." An olive skinned woman dressed in a long black cloak swept into the room, her smoothe black hair swinging around her, red lips puckered attractively in a pout. "And dear Cissy didn't tell her favorite sister!" Bellatrix Lestrange twirled her wand threateningly, and it emitted a few pinkish gold sparks. "What are you doing here?" Narcissa growled, eyes narrowing to slits. Bellatrix sank into a straight-backed cream colored chair by the fire. "Well, I came by to see little Draco, and I happened to overhear you and your husband's interesting conversation." She narrowed her eyes at her sister. "You sound as if...as if you don't _want_ your son to serve the Dark Lord." She raised her eyebrows in mock confusion. "Do I understand that right, Cissy? I'm sure he'd love to know, considering how you and Lucious have been acting lately." She said in a singsong.

Narcissa straightened, making Draco twitch uncomfortably. "It's none of your business what me and my husband discuss." She hissed. Bellatrix dropped her nonchalant attitude, leaning forward with her nails digging into the arms of the chair. "As the Dark Lord's most loyal supporter, it is certainly my business if there are any traitors running about, especially if one of them is my own _sister_." She said, eyes flashing furiously, like the flicker of a candle. Narcissa felt a stab of fear pierce her heart, and she grabbed Bellatrix's hand desperately, earning a disgusted look from her sister. "Please, Bellatrix, I'll do anything, anything to keep him safe! Please!" She cried, hot tears streaming down her face. Bellatrix shook her sister off and fell back clumsily into her chair, propping her chin with her arm. "Narcissa, I've always said you were the baby mother dropped. Begging your sister? Begging is for the weak! A Black would never beg. Fine, then, since I have such a kind heart, I will keep this from the Dark Lord." Her face grew tight with guilt, her eyes clouding momentarily with hurt in her words. She shook her head slightly to clear it then leaned forward, mouth twisted into a grim smile. "Draco will be kept alive and your family safe, _if_ he carries out the final mission...you see, it will take a young, strong wizard to complete this mission, and Draco would be perfect for the position." At her pale sister's terrified eyes, Bellatrix smiled malevolently. "Yes, Narcissa. This is the only way..." Bellatrix released her sister's hand and leaned back easily into her chair. "You're choice, of course." Her voice was a growl.

Narcissa closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. "And he will be-safe?" She stuttered slightly, sitting straight and tall, her face tight and heavily controled. "Yes, Bellatrix." The snap of the woman's eyes dared Bellatrix to defy her. Her sister's eyes tilted up in the corners, like a hungry cat's."The Unbreakable Vow?" She asked. Narcissa nodded curtly, shifting Draco to her other arm. Bellatrix pulled out her wand, and clasping hands with her sister, raised it above their joined fist. "Do you, Narcissa Malfoy, swear that you're son, Draco, will perform the final task for Lord Voldemort?" Bellatrix asked in a monotone. _No, please, no. I can't do this, I can't do this..._ Narcissa thought despairingly. But she cleared her throat loudly and said flatly, "I do."

The shimmering light curling around the two witches hands glowed brightly and then faded.

Bellatrix rose, smirked at her sister, and swept from the room without a word. Narcissa Malfoy snatched her baby boy close against her chest, the full realisation of what she'd done washing over her in a wave of cold disbelief. She began to sob in racking, shuddering breaths, tears falling once again from her blue eyes. "Oh, oh Draco! I'm-so-sorry-" And there she sat, crying helplessly into her baby boy's shoulder, until her husband returned at dawn.


	2. Haunted

**(Thank you for reading, everyone. This takes place five years post-Hogwarts and the epilogue to the Deathly Hallows never happened. And yes, Dramione stroy, I know, unoriginal. Please enjoy.)**

**Chapter one: Changes.**

It was a cold, rainy afternoon in late March when Harry Potter finally stumbled over the threshold of Draco Malfoy's office, his black hair soggy and continuously falling into his vivid green eyes. "Sorry I'm late. Again." He smiled sheepishly. Harry removed his burgundy traveling cloak and hung it on a peg by the door, sinking into an uncomfortable metal chair. Draco massaged his temples. "Potter, this is the fifth time in a month. I'm a busy man and just because you're Head Auror doesn't mean you can show up whenever you please." Malfoy spat, glaring at him with his stormy eyes. His office, a small, rectangular room, was gloomy in the frail light that managed to seep through the thick clouds and shine through his window. The floor, which was smoothe gray stone, was icy to the touch. The plain white walls were sparsely decorated with a faded Slytherin banner, a shelf bearing a small, dusty Quidditch trophy, and an old black-and-white photo of the Malfoy family at a pure blood ball back when Draco was a third year. Not one of the three people in the photograph smiled, and even though the picture was magically bewitched to move, you could barely tell from how still they all stood, like fair-haired statues.

Harry fidgeted uneasily. "I know, Malfoy, I know. And I'm sorry, but I've been up late with Ginny-" Malfoy grimaced, shaking his head. "Please Potter, for the love of Merlin, _stop. Talking._" He hissed. Harry raised a dark eyebrow. "-Looking for a house. We're going to live together now that she's graduated." He said dryly, amusement heavy in his voice. Malfoy straightened. "Yes, of course. Anyway, I called you here because I wondered if you'd read the report in the Prophet." Malfoy produced a thick newspaper bearing the bold black title **ENTIRE MUGGLE FAMILY MURDERED AT THE HANDS OF A FORMER DEATH EATER. **A picture of a scraggly haired young woman screaming in her cell at Azkaban lay just underneath the title.

Harry's brow furrowed. "Yes, I read it this morning. Terrible, I was on call with an old dark wizard who was bewitching cats to kill witches in their sleep. I would have stopped her..." Harry glanced up at Malfoy's pale face, folding his hands on his lap and leaning forward slightly. "Malfoy, we can't let something like this happen again. Voldemort has been dead five years, but his supporters live on. The Aurors are going to have to be on constant guard these next few months, because any dark wizards with the guts to defy the Aurors attract others and it starts to grow. Like a fire." Harry's eyes had darkened with horrid memories. Malfoy swallowed, sweat glistening on his white forhead. "Please, Harry. Don't bring that up." He whispered, clutching the side of his desk. Harry leaned back, his face slightly red at what he had done. "Malfoy, I wasn't talking about Crabbe-I-" Harry stuttered, his face flushing puce with shame. Draco closed his eyes and took a shaky breath, seeing the orange flames leaping all around him once again. "It's fine. I'm assuming I'll have to pick up extra shifts and keep watch for anymore attacks?" Malfoy asked coolly. Harry shook his head. "No, Malfoy. I'll-I'll get Ron to do it. He's itching to kill something after this attack, wouldn't shut up about it when I met him outside this morning." Harry joked feebly. The tall man stood and walked briskly over to his cloak, draping it around himself and nodding curtly to Draco, his eyes anxious. "Take care, Malfoy." He said. Malfoy nodded back.

Draco checked the time, and sure enough, it was time to leave. Pity, he had paperwork. That was one thing he though he could avoid by becoming an Auror, dealing with mountains of parchment. Shrugging, he stood lightly and left his office, trying to ignore the flashes of red flame he saw every time he blinked, and the grim face of his dead friend when he was pulled from the blazing Room of Requirement. Five years, and still haunted by memories. Five years, and still waking screaming in the night. Five years, and still connected to a dark, terrible past.

He was walking home, no question. He needed time to think, and Disapperating or traveling by the floo network was too quick. His mind was occupied by the deaths of the muggle family, and he found himself pitying them. The old Draco would have laughed at the fact that they'd been tortured, maimed, burned, and thrown into an old well, but now it made him sick on his stomach.

After the battle at Hogwarts, he'd completely given up dark magic. After Crabbe's death and the trauma of being at the disposal of the Dark Lord, he'd dropped it like an old boot. He'd had the O.W.L.s to become an Auror, to his amazement was accepted. His parents had been painfully cool about the whole matter, but spoke nothing of their unhappiness. At twenty, he'd moved out of Malfoy Manor and stepped out into his new life.

The strangest part was becoming friends with the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice. He didn't know how it had come about, but now he was friends with Harry Potter, the boy he'd despised because of his fame and bravery since childhood. Actually being friendly to Harry Potter made Draco well up with happiness, as it was the final step twoards leaving his old life behind.

Then why, in the name of Merlin, did he feel like something was coming for him? It seemed like a cloud loomed distantly on the horizon, black and angry, and he felt as though the storm would hit any minute. As if an invisible chain, heavy and permanant, was fastened around his leg, constantly dragging him down.

Immersed deep in his thoughts, Draco almost cried out when he slammed into something as thick and hard as a brick. There was a loud crash and Malfoy blinked in surprise, then choked back a laugh, when he saw Hermione Granger sprawled on the dark floor of the entrance hall to the Ministry of Magic. At last twenty books were scattered around her, and she glared up at him furiously, her chestnut eyes flashing like a snake's. A few snickers came from the witches and wizards stepping out of the gilded fireplaces as they arrived, and one white-haired wizard sighed "Muggle-borns."

She was dressed in a fuzzy gray sweater and gray plaid skirt, draped in a black traveling cloak. Her wild mess of golden-brown curls were frizzy and damp from the misty rain, and her face was pink with embarassment. "_Malfoy!"_ She spat. While he was on good terms with both Weasley and Potter, Hermione Granger was a mystery.

He smirked down at her, eyes glinting at the challenge in her voice. "Out for a stroll, I see?" He asked in a carefully controlled voice of indifference. She very nearly growled at him, slipping on the floor in her little black flats as she fought so stand on the smoothe wood. He extended a graceful hand. "Need help, Granger?" Hermione blushed fiercely but grabbed his hand tightly, making his knuckles pop with strain. He winced, but vaguely noticed how soft and warm her hands were, and white as dove feathers. She brushed herself off, then stooped and collected her books before nodding at him and flouncing off. He unconciously smiled after her, then stepped through the giant doors and disappeared into the rain.

That night the rain had stopped and given way to a bleak, wet snow. Draco was inside his small, graceful home just outside of London, perched at his dark mahogany desk and pouring over his leftover paperwork. There was a small scuffle behind him, and he turned, brows raised above his reading glasses. His small house-elf, Ella, stood with a silver tray loaded with ham and biscuits. Her arms were trembling under the immense weight of the food, but she was smiling shyly and looked overjoyed at having Draco's full attention. He smiled weakly at her. "Thank you, Ella. That was very thoughtful of you." Ella's giant pale green eyes widened with bliss as she scurried quietly into the room, setting the tray down in front of him. "Master Draco is upset? Did he not want ham this evening?" She asked in her high-pitched, squeaky voice. She twisted her white towl in her thin pink fingers. "No, this looks wonderful. I'm just...tired, is all." He said quietly. She bowed low and turned to leave. He handed her one of the rolls, not feeling hungry anyway. "Here, have some of it." He said. Silent tears of joy rolled down her cheeks as she took the bread, bowed again, and Disapparated with a loud _crack._

_Yes,_ thought Draco as he began to eat his ham, _I am tired. _Tired of feeling like the past wasn't _in_ the past. He still felt haunted, like he was running out of time. Like he was still the Dark Lord's servant, afraid and alone again.

Those red eyes would always be watching him. He wondered vaguely if Harry ever felt the same way, and concluded that he certainly had to. Draco ate his food quickly and without tasting it, trying to clear his head of looming clouds and crimson eyes. He left the tray and half-finished paperwork lying on the desk and fell into bed, falling asleep immediately.


	3. Tragic

**Chapter Two: Tragic**

"What?" Hermione Granger stood on the sidewalk in the icy snow, her eyes wide, tears running down her cheeks, a silver cell phone pressed against her ear through her mane of hair. "Yes, honey. This morning-it was just a green flash, we were headed to the market together, you know, to get supplies for when you and Ron visit this weekend and then-then-it just happened! The car wrecked, spun off the road, but he was already dead." Her mother broke down in a sea of sobs, "Oh Hermione! I'm-so-sorry-" She lost the ability to speak and instead cried harder. Hermione felt dazed, devastated, broken inside, as though her heart had split in two. A green flash. Oh Merlin, no. Her father was dead, killed by a dark wizard wanting revenge for the death of Voldemort, for the little mudblood who'd helped Harry Potter dispose of the terrible man. "Mum..." She said feebly, feeling faint. She should never have removed that memory charm. She should have kept them safe, she should have acted like a Griffindor. What was wrong with her?

"I just don't know what we'll do..." Her mother whispered into the phone. Hermione cleared her throat, pulling up her bravery. "Mum, I can come over, I could stay with you for a while..." She murmured. Her mother gave a loud sniff. "That's quite alright, Hermione. I wouldn't want to take you from work, or Ronald. And I'm sure you need him right now. I'll be fine." Her mother said determindly. Hermione's lips lifted at the corners in a poor imitation of a smile. Her mother was always so brave. "Are you sure?" She asked. She could almost see her mother nodding. "Yes. I'm positive." She sounded firm and steady, though Hermione felt like the world was crumbling around her. She desperately needed to cry. "Goodbye, Hermione." Her mother said. "G'bye." Hermione whispered, voice so thick it slurred. She hung up, and let the phone clatter against the icy walk. She cried all the way home, people stared at her but she didn't care, couldn't care. She flung open the door, stomped inside, and collapsed against the wall, sobbing.


End file.
